


To Sing and be Wise

by Crowoxy



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol solves Some Things, Alexander the Great is the Bi Mood, And then doesn't solve other things, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2018, Hephaistion was so gay for him, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Lucifer and Michael in the Foot Notes, Minstrel Crowley, Scholar Aziraphale, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 02:24:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17357141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowoxy/pseuds/Crowoxy
Summary: Welcome to the Persian Empire, a time of Alexander the Great, his “best friend” and totally not absolute boyfriend Hephaestion, a demon just trying to sing his heart out and an angel who tries to do his job but fails.A historical sort of accurate with liberties taken snapshot of how a demon and angel attempt to get along, fail a tiny bit, and then get better because of fermented drinks and time.A fanfiction gifted to the lovely Sonnet23 for the 2018 Good Omens Holiday Exchange!





	To Sing and be Wise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sonnet23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonnet23/gifts).



> Well this was a fun topic to research, let me tell you that. Thank you Sonnet23 for the fantastic prompt which was: 
> 
> "Crowley is a court jester of a medieval monarch (choose any country and any historical figure you like) and Aziraphale is a priest or a counsellor who is trying to teach that monarch to lead a good life. You can go wherever you like from here. Maybe someone organizes a conspiracy to overthrow the said monarch, and neither Crowley nor Aziraphale want it to happen? Can be historical or pseudo-historical."
> 
> Wikipedia has been my best friend and opened my eyes to so many fun facts and the stupid shit people do in historical records.

Alexander wasn’t terrible. He really wasn’t.

He was just … very, very intense.

As Crowley trailed behind the son of Phillip II of Macedon, and his closest friend, Hephaestion, their heads pressed so closely together to whisper quietly among themselves, he studied the young ruler with serpentine eyes.

He had been ordered by his superiors to follow Alexander, to keep up with his exploits and tempt him time and time again so his soul would be claimed by Hell [1]. As a demon and former angel, Crowley could see why his superiors had grown obsessed with the young King; give him a pair of wings and a halo, and Alexander could be a copy of Lucifer before the Fall.

Not in looks, never in looks. Lucifer had been beautiful beyond words, starlight framing their entire being before being cast down and locked up. How could any mortal, as rumored to be the son of the local pantheon could be, match to the former Light-Bringer of Heaven? No, Alexander reassembled him in personality and spirit, in his competitive nature and brilliance. No wonder his higher ups wanted Alexander’s soul for themselves; he would make an excellent General for Satan’s army during Armageddon, whenever and wherever that would take place.

“Crowley.” Dark hair framed fair skin that had been burnt brown from the sun, and two-colored eyes, one dark as the blackest night, and one light blue as the sunny desert sky, peered like a hawk sharply in his direction. “We make camp in less than a few hours. The men need a morale booster around the fires tonight.”

“Of course.” The demon nodded quickly. Crowley hadn’t wanted to be one of Alexander the Great’s soldiers; his closet friends and allies who all marched into the fray of Alexander’s constant battles. He was a Snake at heart, a coward deep in his bones, who stuck in the shadows behind all the great warriors. Poison, stealth, and quickness were his weapons of choice, though he had no motivation to harm, much to the chagrin of his brethren down below. He had not fought in the Civil War of Heaven and he would not fight in human battles if he could help it.

Hence, he took the role of jester, minstrel, entertainer, to keep Alexander’s troops enthused to continue marching through Persia, their victory in India no longer sustaining their pride after the loss of many soldiers to the harsh Gedrosian Desert. And if the morale perked up each night by a touch of Lust and Pride and Greed and sometimes Sloth when the fires dwindled down, well Hell shouldn’t complain about the multitude of extra souls heading closer to damnation.

“My King!” One of the scouts called from the western flank of the army. “Someone approaches requesting to speak with you!”

“Bade them entry.” Alexander waved a hand uninterestedly, Hephaestion taking his place on Alexander’s right side, hand placed solidly on the hilt of his blade. [2]

A sense of tranquility permeated the air around the army, joy and a touch of peace lifting the souls of the soldiers around Crowley.

“Oh bugger.” [3] 

Parting through the crowd of soldiers with ease, a tall brown skinned figure in deep blue robes that covered them from head to toe stepped towards Alexander and his entourage, a gentle smile on their face.

“Aziraphale.” Alexander greeted warmly – he greeted everyone warmly, unless they were his enemy. “What brings you all the way out here?”

Aziraphale to the people of the Persian Empire was a scholar and philosopher, a rival in terms of book knowledge to Aristotle, Alexander’s own personal tutor and greatest philosopher known to the civilized world. To Crowley, Aziraphale was another monster entirely. His counterpart and opposite, the angel stationed on Earth by Heaven as Crowley was ordered by Hell and thwarter to Crowley’s devious deeds.

Crowley’s last commissioned body had been violently discorporated by the angel only decades before, following a face to face meeting filled with insults. The demon had no interest in repeating that incident. As quietly as he could, Crowley slunk to the side, blending in with the thousands of other faces marching behind Alexander. If he could leave, he would, but orders were orders; he wasn’t to leave the young King’s side until his death. And no doubt Aziraphale already knew Crowley was _here_.

“Simply passing through, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled cordially. “I was studying in Damut and heard you were passing through up North. It was close enough. You wouldn’t happen to be heading to Ecbatana, would you?”

Whatever Alexander said in response was lost to Crowley as he meandered through the crowd away from the main party. Ducking in between the soldiers as they continued to march, Crowley made sure to smile wolfishly at a few humans, give a few pats on the backs of others and induce some Pride in how they were the strongest army known to man, the hubris tainting their souls, ever so slightly. His work had always made him feel better.

“Having fun at their expense, demon?” Crowley yelped as Aziraphale materialized right in front of him, disapproval etched all over his face. The humans around him noticed nothing, the angel miracling their attention elsewhere, that bastard.

“It’s barely anything.” Crowley protested, shrinking away from the angel. He didn’t think the angel would attempt anything now, not surrounded by a multitude of Alexander’s men, but who knew how terribly mad Aziraphale was at him? “Let them live a little, Aziraphale; this makes them happy.”

“Happy would be them believing in the righteous justice of the Lord no matter how arduous the task.”

“Oh, come off it!” Crowley protested, “this lot still believes in their own pantheon of go- deities!”

For the first time in a long time, Crowley saw an expression of Doubt flicker across Aziraphale’s face.

“Er, I mean, you are not… well that is to say, I suppose that’s true?” Aziraphale muttered, loosing some of the divine intensity he radiated instinctively, at least when Crowley was around.

“Perhaps it is not –“

“Crowley!” a voice from the center of camp called. Alexander, his voice naturally pitched over the sounds of hundreds of men conversing. 

“Look, I have to go.” Crowley twitched, “Why don’t we meet up later after my watch; it’s not like either of us will be sleeping and it’ll be quiet enough to talk.”

Had he just asked to speak with _Aziraphale_? He must be losing his mind. He didn’t bother waiting for a response as he pushed his way back into the crowd of people, heading back towards Alexander and his posse where he would be expected to put on a show. If Aziraphale took him up on his offer, he knew where to find Crowley.

Crowley didn’t think it was strange that he hoped, as much as a demon could, that Aziraphale wouldn’t show. 

 

* * *

 

 

[1] There really had to be a better way to tempt souls for Hell; this one at a time nonsense was massively outdated but his superiors still hadn’t grasped that.

[2] Hephaestion and Alexander were not subtle but they tried to be subtle leading to many awkward scenarios and miscommunication situations that would not be misplaced in RomCom movies that would come out 2,000 years from now. Everyone at camp thought it was adorable. Except for Padar the Grump who enjoyed nothing but sand.

[3] Bugger was not invented in Britain as so many people thought, but by a demon in Persia centuries before who was about to be buggered.

 

* * *

 

A well-known fact among the denizens of Heaven and Hell was that the devil had all the best tunes. [4] So it was no surprise to the representative of Heaven on Earth that the soldiers in Alexander’s army cheered and danced as the representative of Hell on Earth swayed them all with a song about Alexander’s exploits.

Aziraphale wanted to be righteously furious at the gall of the demon to stand by the Great Alexander of the Persian Empire, who had made enough of a name for himself that Heaven finally took notice. Metatron himself had spoken to Aziraphale, criticizing his avoidance of Alexander and failure to notice that hell had already positioned their demon close to him.

It wasn’t that Aziraphale hadn’t noticed Crowley lurking around Alexander for the past few years - he made it a point to track his adversary as best he could when he wasn’t distracted by humanity. And Aziraphale had met up with Alexander quite a number of times in the years before to discuss philosophy and religion before Crowley had joined his retinue, but Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to spend an extended amount of time around Alexander, his righteous fury and competition reminded him too much of the past. And then the demon was there and knowing that it was expected of him to discorporate Crowley for really no reason at all felt like a heavy rock had taken residence in his stomach. So he stayed away for the most part, only popping up from time to time.

Aziraphale mentioned nothing of his doubts to Metatron. It wasn’t proper angel behavior… but what Metatron didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Or more importantly, Aziraphale.

“All is well in Damut?” Not everyone had been charmed into complacency by the demon’s music, it seemed. Hephaestion had moved away from his place at Alexander’s side, leaving the King of Persia surrounded by his loyal soldiers as they laughed and cheered to the demon’s words and beats. Alexander sat in the center of it all, his face set in a small smile as his men and women perked up from the long march across the desert.

“Indeed.” Aziraphale turned away from looking at Crowley, the demon almost joyous in a way Aziraphale had never seen before in four thousand years of thwarting. Strange, Aziraphale had only ever seen him behave callously while spreading his temptations around. “The libraries remain ever resourceful and peaceful. How fares the conquest?” 

Hephaestion snorted in amusement. “You scholars and libraries. I swear, if Alexander hadn’t the blood of a conqueror in his bones, you both would never see daylight and be surrounded by all those scrolls you love so much.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong. I imagine we would both be fighting for candlelight if that were the case.”

“Zeus above, just think of your poor eyes.” Hephaestion laughed. “Apologies, I know you are a strict believer in the one God in the sky.”

Aziraphale smiled tightly. Humanity would soon know of the truth of the one God; he could let them have their few more centuries of belief in their stories. “Think nothing of it, my dear. I’ll make you all proper converts soon enough. Maybe once all this fighting is done.”

“Good luck with that, philosopher.” Hephaestion took Aziraphale’s words as a jest. “I don’t believe Alexander will ever stop fighting. Even if he conquers all the lands under his banner.”

“Well that seems unreasonable. There won’t be any enemies for him too fight at that point.”

“You’d think so but…” Hephaestion trailed off before shaking his head. “I’m just glad the minstrel started his nightly songs. Alexander finally sleeps through the night instead of staying up until the sun rises to strategize more campaigns.”

“Crowley has been helping?”

“You know him? Man’s got a way with words when singing.” Hephaestion thought _Crowley_ was helping? This was… most unusual.

Of course, the best tempters were the ones who manipulated the good souls into doing the wrong things for what they thought were the right reasons. But never could they tempt the bad souls into doing the right things, right?

And Alexander wasn’t a good soul. At least according to Heaven.

Aziraphale watched as the embers of the fires slowly died out, and how the crowd start winding down, unpacking their tents and supplies for the night. The soldiers looked… not peaceful, but content and satisfied. Not like they had just lost more than half of their fellows to the sands of the Gedrosian Desert.

How peculiar.

“We are… acquaintances.” Aziraphale said after a pause. Acquaintances was the best term he could think of. “We met a few times many years ago.”

“You should speak with him before you depart then.” Hephaestion said thoughtfully. “Oh, and please speak to Alexander about taking a break. He’s sure to listen to you more than I about the subject.”

Hmm. Crowley had offered to speak to him later in the night. Aziraphale hadn’t considered taking him up on the offer… but what was the worst that could happen? It’s not like getting discorporated was anything new for either of them, not that Aziraphale had any intention of needing to requisition a new body from Heaven just yet.

“I’ll do just that, Hephaestion.”

 

* * *

 

[4] This was due to the Devil spending most of their time imaging the deaths of their all too righteous siblings (ie. Michael) to catchy songs, because nothing would anger angels more (again, ie. Michael) than realizing their Head Adversary thought of stabbing their eyes with a song about Butts playing in the background.

 

* * *

 

 The stars were shining brightly in the dark sky by the time Aziraphale plucked up enough courage to find Crowley sitting on the edge of a dune just on the outskirts of where the camp was set up. He was consoled by the fact that the demon looked just as nervous as Aziraphale felt about this upcoming talk. The last civil discussion the two had had just been after Adam and Eve left the Garden. Maybe that time in Sumer, but Aziraphale had doubts that spending hours drinking fermented wheat and complaining about that idiot bloke Ea-Nasir [5] really counted as a civil talk.

“Oh, you’re here.” The demon tensed as Aziraphale approached closer but did not move from his spot.

“You did invite me.” Aziraphale pointed out. “I might have thought you would have had something important to tell me.”

“Ngh,no? I thought _you_ wanted to talk since you were sputtering something before Alexander called me away.”

“Spu- I was not sputtering, you foul creature! Angels don’t sputter.”

“So sorry, I _must_ have been mistaken.” Crowley said in a tone that implied he was neither sorry nor believed he had been mistaken.

“Well, you don’t have to be rude about it.” Aziraphale glared; angels don’t hate as a rule – except for hating demons, - but if there was one flaw in his character, it was that Aziraphale was never wrong.

Never. No matter what any human, angel or demon said. Aziraphale was never wrong. 

“Isn’t being rude what got me discorporated the last time?” Crowley winced after the words left his mouth, looking as though he expected Aziraphale to strike him for that comment alone. Had that really been the reason? They had both been discorporated by the other countless times throughout the years stationed on Earth, Aziraphale could hardly remember the reasons why any longer. It was never permanent, and the demon would always return to Earth within a few months anyhow.

“Er… sorry?” Aziraphale was unsure of what to say; he wasn’t actually sorry and he was sure the demon knew it. They were Adversaries; it was in their job descriptions to try and kill the other. Or at the very least _stop_ them.

Crowley’s reply was a scoff. An uneasy silence fell between the two as the camp continued to slumber before them; only a few soldiers on patrol for the night.

“Look, maybe us talking was a bad idea.” Crowley broke the silence several hours later. “We’re constant enemies and such, but don’t… don’t you ever just get lonely watching the humans all the time?”

“No,” Aziraphale lied, [6] “I have the scrolls to keep me busy. And of course, you to thwart.” He added as an afterthought. 

Crowley blinked. “Sure.” He muttered and got to his feet. “Anyways, I got to get going. Early marching tomorrow and sins to sell and all that.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley turned on his feet to walk farther down the dune. “Wait!” Aziraphale was surprised when Crowley stopped and waited for the angel to scramble up the dune rather than run away. “You know I can’t let you get away with selling sins to the poor human souls.” Aziraphale ignored how Crowley’s fingers disappeared within the sleeve of his tunic; most likely grabbing a dagger or some other sort of weapon. “Would you like some wine?” [7]

Maybe Crowley was right and talking wasn’t something they could ever do. But drinking? They could do drinking. Hopefully.

“Wine?”

 

* * *

 

[5] That copper swindling bastard was a menace to everyone in Babylon, including the poor demon and angel who by all means shouldn’t have been bothered by a scoundrel like that. He was humanity’s first recorded con-artist and Crowley would never mention that he took inspiration from that asshole who took his miracled money for shitty copper pieces.  

[6] Angels and demons can lie and do so all the time. One is not better at lying than the other although compared to humans, angels and demons are notoriously terrible liars especially when discussing the weather.

[7] And thus began the age of alcoholic beverages solving most problems related to making small talk with an Adversary who are not supposed to be getting along.

 

* * *

 

“Yo- you know.” Aziraphale hiccuped several hours later, as dawn slowly approached. “Hephe – Hepha – ‘xander’s curly brown haired friend –“

“Hephaestion?”

“Yes him,” Aziraphale nodded as Crowley swayed side to side; five empty bottles of wine from all over the Persian Empire were stacked precariously in behind them. They sat side by side, shoulders several inches apart and feet dangling over the dune, watching the black sky ebb away as red and pink spilled over the horizon.

“What about him?” Crowley asked, when Aziraphale kept nodding and didn’t say anything more.

“Oh! He and I were doing that thing we’re doing now –“

“Drinking?”

“No. The other thing.”

“Watching the sun rise?”

“No, no. The talking. We were doing the talking thing.”

“Oh, that thing. We’re good at that thing.” [8]

“Yes. But he said that you were helping Alexander.”

“Helping? Who said?”

“Hephe said.” Aziraphale poked Crowley with a finger. “Said your music helped the King sleep better. But you’re a demon; demons don’t help.”

“I wasn’t helping,” Crowley protested, his words tinged with tired hisses, “Sloth is a sin, angel. A good sin, but a sin from the – from the very devil himself. Means less time for thinking and planning. Makes you lazy.”

“Of course, dear.” Aziraphale said absentmindedly, his pokes turning to head pats.

 _Oh, did I just call a demon dear?_ Aziraphale was almost ashamed at how long it took for him to consider his – almost – fond words to a _demon_. But then, Aziraphale hadn’t heard any maniacal laughter from the demon for his slip-up and it had been several minutes…

The angel chanced a look over to the demon and couldn’t help a soft smile. With a quiet miracle, the potency of the wine left his system and Aziraphale watched the sunrise with Crowley sleeping soundly, his head perched comfortably on the angel’s shoulder.

For the first time, Aziraphale felt doubt that all demons were nothing more than evil entities bent on hellish destruction. [9]

 

* * *

 

[8] Really only when plastered drunk with alcoholic fruit juice at this time.

 

[9] After the great Fall, Heaven sent out a pamphlet to all the remaining angels with bullet points on how Demons Are Evil and pictures of gory entrails that everyone knew were supposed to represent Lucifer. Michael was very pleased with his progressive thinking; the other archangels were less so.

 

* * *

 

Crowley woke, [10] around the same time as everyone else in camp and went about making packing everything up just a little harder; tent poles stuck to the ground, unpackable pots that kept shifting the moment someone’s back was turned, that sort of thing. It frustrated everyone just a little bit, which meant they would take that frustration out on others and spread the damnation without Crowley exerting too much energy.

“- ally Alexander. You’ve spent too much time just on battlefields.” Aziraphale crossed his arms while glaring at Alexander. “Just a small break to replenish supplies and rest. Your soldiers need to sleep on actual beds once in a while.”

“But now is the perfect time to press an advantage in Arabia, we can’t just wait –“

“Arabia will still be there for you to take.” Aziraphale said firmly, a heavenly compulsion influencing his words. “For Go- Someone’s Sake, just go see what you’ve conquered so far. Have you even looked at your own lands?”

“I do not need a mere philosopher telling me what to do, Aziraphale.” Alexander snapped.

“I’m not telling you – it’s just advice!”

“If it was just advice, you wouldn’t keep pushing at it.”

By now most of the soldiers had stopped to stare at the two stubborn men, [11] Crowley included. The two stood eye to eye, Aziraphale’s head still covered in the blue cloth while Alexander’s curls flew free in the wind. It seems an age before the stalemate is broken; Aziraphale looking away from the King of Persia with an irritated huff.

“Very well, I see that your mind is made up.” Aziraphale muttered, turning. “I know not where you will be heading with your army, but if you decide to have need for me, I’ll be at Ecbatana.” His heel spurred up a small cloud of dust as Aziraphale pivoted and stalked off into dessert.

“Sire?” Crowley overheard Hephaestion whisper in Alexander’s ear. “What do you want to do?”

Eyes cold and sharp as ice watched the angel disguised as a philosopher until the blue colored robe could no longer be seen from the glare of the sun. “We continue marching, my darling Hephaestion.” Alexander’s voice was low. “And then once our soldiers get their soft silky beds once we get to Pasargadae, the two of us will go to Ecbatana.”

“Oh? Just the two of us?”

“Well, maybe a few more people.” Alexander moved with Hephaestion away from Crowley. “But the Philosopher was right about the soldiers being tired. There are very few things keeping them from deserting outright, nowadays.”

Aziraphale would be pleased to hear that, Crowley knew. Not that the demon would ever tell the angel.

But he had to admit; not fighting the angel – and loosing because Crowley really was terrible at fighting directly one on one – had been nice. Maybe one day they would be able to talk without needing to drink at least two bottles of wine. After all, most of heaven and hell left Earth alone; he’d only seen other demons whenever he needed to go Downstairs in the past few centuries. Aziraphale was the only constant he had.

It sounded pathetic, even to his own jaded ears.

That didn’t stop him from belting out a battle song to prepare the soldiers for the next war, whenever Alexander decided that would be. [12]

 

* * *

 

[10] Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley mentioned the angel’s new part-time occupation as a pillow; in fact both tried to pretend it never happened.

[11] Well, one stubborn man and one very stubborn angel.

[12] The lyrics went a little something like a future song that would be sung by the greatest rock band and titled We Are the Champions. Except it was more “Alexander was the Champion and everyone loved him for it”.

 

* * *

 

 It was another two months before Crowley met with Aziraphale again. Which was a far change from seeing one another every few decades. Alexander had indeed stopped Pasargadae and dismissed most of the soldiers from his army for time off. If he wanted to conquer Arabia, Alexander said solemnly to his war council once they had arrived in the city, then he needed people who weren’t about to fall over from exhaustion. Arabia would need to wait until after Alexander returned from a personal trip across Babylon.

Naturally, Crowley would be joining, along with Hephaestion. And six of Alexander’s trusted vanguard after the council protested the King going off with very little protection, even if he was recognized as the rightful ruler of the lands from conquest.

It was a quick journey from Pasargadae to Ecbatana, especially with less than a dozen people traveling together rather than an army more than several thousand strong. Ecbatana was a small city in the Persian Empire; less well known than the other cities in Alexander’s Empire. The reason for the obscurity lay within the citadel itself; the largest horde of treasure procured from the lands that Alexander had seized. [13] If Alexander wanted to start off a strong campaign against Arabia, he would need the funds to do so.

Of course, the angel found Crowley after they had been in town several days, sitting on the roof of the highest structure he could find, mourning bells clanging loudly in the still air. A bottle of honey mead rested next to the demon, one that he had refilled by miracles several times in the past hour. Maybe he had refilled it one too many times, he had never seen Aziraphale seek him out while looking so guilty before. 

“Hope you aren’t here to strike me down where I stand, angel.” Crowley said bitterly, taking a breath to down the rest of the mead in the bottle. “Unlike China, I don’t think I could give you any sort of fight and that wouldn’t be fair.”

“Er, no. I wanted to see how… You seemed very upset leaving the hall.” Aziraphale didn’t move from his spot on the roof.

“Yessssss, because everyone lovesss getting blamed for thingsss they didn’t do.” Crowley hissed. He was upset and drunk, and frankly those were the only reasons he needed to want to hide in a corner and sleep for half a century. “You here to blame me asss well?”

“No. I know it wasn’t you who poisoned poor Hephaestion.”

Crowley twisted his back neck in a way that would make any human cringe in pain just by looking. “ _What?_ How do…you – You poisoned him?”

“Well, not me. Another angel.” Aziraphale pressed his lips tightly together; even drunk, it was easy to see that he disapproved of the other’s actions. “I was only told seconds before it would happen; apparently Heaven decided they wanted to Test Alexander.”

With a shudder, Crowley purged the heaviness of the mead from his system with a thought. “Test Alexander.” He said flatly. “Heaven wanted to _Test_ Alexander. By killing Hephaestion.”

“I didn’t like how they did this either, Crowley. Merida said something about Heaven wanting to give his soul a chance to redeem itself from his already brutish behavior and if he could forgive the murderers of his love, his soul could be petitioned to come up to Heaven.”

“Come up to – No!” Crowley pushed himself off the ground of the roof, his eyes narrowed in a glare at the angel across from him. “Alexander was _mine_!” Crowley snarled. “I’ve spent years with the man, slowly tempting him to our side because I was ordered to. I’ve even been tempting his soldiers as a bonus; Heaven has no right to try and snatch him from me!”

“Demon –“

“And now Alexander thinks _I_ had it out for Hephaestion, because of course even humans would be the first to suspect me –“

“Crowley!” Aziraphale snapped, grabbing his shoulders. The demon fell silent, though his eyes never left Aziraphale’s. “This is how it’s always been; I thwart, you tempt, it’s what we do! We can’t change that part of our duties. Besides, Alexander failed.”

“Oh.” Crowley slipped his arms from Aziraphale’s grasp. He’d failed Heaven’s test. Which Crowley wasn’t surprised about; Alexander conquered his foes, he didn’t forgive them or discuss things with them. And from what Crowley had seen the past few years moving around with the King and his posse, fighting was Alexander’s first, second, and third choices when the people he loved were hurt. [14] 

“It’s still not fair.” Crowley said firmly to Aziraphale. “It’s not effective and it’s ssstupid to keep fighting like we have.”

“I know it’s not, but what else can we do? We both need to meet quotas.” Aziraphale looked frustrated at how uncooperative Crowley was being to keep the status quo. If the angel had actually wanted to keep fighting battles with the demon, he would have never offered to drink wine with Crowley.

“I don’t know yet.” Crowley shrugged, looking uncharacteristically solemn. “But I’m sure we can come up with some sort of arrangement.”

 

* * *

 

[13] When Crowley first stepped into the locked room with Alexander and Hephaestion, he burst into song that would later have almost the same verses as a future popular song about treasure troves and mermaids. In that year, Crowley would have cried about copyright laws and plagiarism to the Aziraphale who would then utilize the time old consoling technique of patting one’s shoulder and saying “there, there” patronizingly.

[14] Crowley considered this sort of testing absolutely ridiculous as Lucifer and more to the point, Michael were both exactly like this as well. In his eyes, Heaven testing someone for forgiveness made them more than a bit of a hypocrite, seeing how the current leader of Heaven loved Violence more than anything.

 

* * *

 

 Alexander went mad from Hephaestion’s death, there was no other way to describe it. Aziraphale tried reasoning with the King of Persia, trying to appeal to the King’s rationality.

The problem with that, was that Alexander’s rational thinking skills had left the moment people dragged Hephaestion’s corpse from his hands. The whole Empire was decreed to be in mourning, and any city Alexander visited following the death, needed to have a brazier lit in remembrance or the city official would find themselves missing essential body parts. Namely, their heads. Anything any sort of adviser would say to the young ruler, whether it be human, demonic, or angelic, was ignored.

“Look, you can keep yelling at him about who knows what, angel.” Crowley told Aziraphale weeks later as Alexander marched his army to Nebuchadnezzarr’s [15] lands in the east and the two of them followed discreetly behind. “He’s not going to listen to you or me any longer, especially that grand funeral he threw for Hephaestion. [16] The coffers are empty, you know.” The fact that Alexander still had over a thousand soldiers march for him with an empty treasury spoke of the loyalty he had cultivated throughout the years; not that the King seemed to notice.

“You could also try speaking to him you know.” Aziraphale carried with him a scroll from some library the group had passed through and was reading as he walked. If he had been anything less than an angel, he would have crashed into nearly everything without his “angel senses” [17] warning him of obstacles in his path. “Maybe you’ll get through to him about not trying to kill himself and his soldiers by throwing themselves into yet another war.”

“Are you actually trusting that I’ll say something that you agree with, angel?”

“Not at all, but it would be a shame if Alexander died after all that effort because of a simple heartbreak.”

“You do realize that he’s going to Hell, right? There’s no way Alexander’s soul isn’t ending up Down there.” Crowley felt like he was pointing out the obvious.

“Yes, yes. But my side got Cyrus so it’s alright. You can keep Alexander.”

It was strange, being so close to the angel without fighting. After nearly four thousand years of them constantly trying to kill each other – or at least wound their assigned bodies hard enough that it sent them back to their respective bases – it was somewhat nice to have similar goals to work towards. In this case, it was to not let Alexander die a stupid death led by bad decisions because of grief. [18]

Two weeks after Hephaestion’s funeral procession, Alexander called on Crowley to sing sorrowful ballads to him as he planned invasion after invasion of the Arabic lands, drinking tankard after tankard of whatever fermented wheat he could get his hands on. Where before Alexander would sit with his soldiers and share in their warmth around the fire for dinner, now Alexander barely left his tent once the march of the day was complete.

Despite how loyal the soldiers were to Alexander, there were still rumblings of dissent spreading through the ranks. The people were worried for Alexander, worried for their homes and the state of the Empire, according to Aziraphale, not that Crowley cared one way or another. What he did care about were the whispers that Alexander was no longer fit to rule.

He heard those whispers every time he was sent back to hell, from demons who had nothing else better to do than complain about the Pit. Unfortunately, unlike Lucifer and Beelzebub, Alexander didn’t have Hellish powers and rank to turn his opponents into a pile of smoldering ash with a simple smile. And with his behavior, Crowley knew that Alexander wouldn’t try very hard to dodge any sort of assassination attempt.

Unacceptable.

“If you’re so against it, do something about it.” Aziraphale told Crowley one night the demon had complained after returning from his nightly lullaby sessions with Alexander.

“Isn’t saving humans supposed to be an angelic thing to do?”

“Saving humans is a human thing to do and you know it. Neither Heaven nor Hell care in the long run.”

“Ah, but what if it’s a demon going around? Then isn’t it technically an angel’s duty to thwart the demon?”

Crowley knew from Aziraphale’s glare that the angel knew exactly what the demon was tempting him with. Crowley also knew that Aziraphale daren’t disagree, less he get in trouble with his higher-ups. [19]

“Oh, very well, demon.” Aziraphale sighed. “I’ll help you, but only to help poor Alexander. Goodness knows we don’t need to lose both Hephaestion and Alexander within the same month.”

 

* * *

 [15] This was Nebuchadnezzarr the Second because someone’s parents decided that having one poor son with a rather difficult to pronounce name wasn’t enough, they had to have two. 

[16] According to the very reliable research of Wikipedia, Hephaestion’s funeral in modern days would have cost around $1.5 billion. Anthropologists in the 20th century will of course look upon this profound moment and pronounce the two just very good friends because that’s just what friends did back in the day.

[17] Or Crowley pulling him out of easily avoidable danger had the Angel been using his eyes for walking and not reading.

[18] Angels and demons are not capable of feeling grief. At least, for one specific earth-bound angel and demon pair, not yet.

[19] Aziraphale’s secret is that he’s always in trouble with his higher-ups, especially the archangel Gabriel who has always been disappointed in Aziraphale’s mediocre job performance. But he would never tell Crowley this for fear of being laughed at.

 

* * *

 

 In the end, it hadn’t been assassins or even an angry mob to hunt Alexander down and finally slay him where he stood.

“So in conclusion, Alexander the Great died from the deadliest toxin known to human kind,” a severe looking woman with her hair tied in a tight bun and frown etched permanently onto her face said to a small, healthy, boy tucked into a little child size bed. “An excessive amount of alcohol and a failing liver.”

Warlock, for that was his name and he was as normal as any normal young boy named Warlock with very rich American parents could be, scrunched his nose in confusion. “But Nanny Ashforefh, the video at schoow, faid fhat he was poisoned and befwayed by his fwiends.”

“Who are you going to believe, child?” Nanny Ashtoreth raised a sharp and angular eyebrow at the five-year-old child, who quailed under her glare and into his covers. “Me? Or some institutionalized education system that is slowly failing due to lack of system updates to the teaching methods and subject matters?”

Poor Warlock had no idea what any of that meant, not that this was an unusual occurrence for a boy barely past his toddling years. “You, nanny.” Warlock knew better than to say otherwise.

“Good boy.” Nanny Ashtoreth patted Warlock’s head like she patted her dog Rover and stood, dusting off her skirts from any imaginary dust. Her skirt knew better than to get even a speck of dust no matter where Nanny Ashtoreth traveled. [20] “If you’re good, tomorrow I shall regale the tale of Genghis Khan and how he tried to conquer the known world. Good night, my sweet demon prince…”

“And hail onto our lord Satan.” Warlock chanted obediently as Nanny Ashtoreth turned off the lights and closed his bedroom door.

Nanny Ashtoreth stalked down the hallway of the large manor where the Dowlings resided. If one were to look very closer at her face, they would see the outline of black sunglasses over her eyes, but of course, no one ever looked that close.

“Really Crowley? Alexander to poor Warlock?” Except of course for the Gardner of the Dowling estate, Brother Francis, who was not actually a Brother Francis at all, but rather the angel Aziraphale almost two thousand years after the death of Alexander the Great and Hephaestion, stood waiting for the nanny right outside the door to walk home together. Their flats were in the same direction after all. 

“What?” Crowley who was indeed Nanny Ashtoreth in a lovely skirt, didn’t slow her steps. “He’s got to learn about Alexander at some point, already did in fact. I’m just giving little Warlock all the true facts.”

“Yes, but no one else knows for certain that it was alcohol poisoning.”

“Humans just can’t hold their alcohol well.” Crowley shrugged. “And poisoned implies that the super-secret assassination squad sent by the Arabs were actually competent and not just teenagers who managed to get lost in enemy territory and end up joining the army of their-would-be Conquer before he drank his liver into oblivion.”

“That would also leave out the part of history where you drunkenly cried after Alexander died and ruined my good tunic.”

“I did not!”

“You did,” Aziraphale nodded sagely. “And then you proceeded to sing about bicycles and how your heart would go on and then passed out.” [21]  

“Lies.”

Crowley and Aziraphale walked [22] off into the dark sky leaving Warlock and his family behind them. After all, they hadn’t spent nearly 6,000 years on Earth being part of it’s history just to let it be destroyed by the whims of Heaven and Hell.

 

* * *

 

[20] Crowley abhorred dirt to almost fanatic degree and everything he owned needed to be sparkling clean. And also sparkling because they were eye catching.

[21] Crowley’s musical talent is so spectacular that it predates many future bebob hits and Crowley would have sued for plagiarism had he any evidence to bring to the court and harass the jury.

[22] Walked in this case means walked to the end of the drive until the nosy maid, Ms. Creensworth couldn’t see them from her spot by the window and then they flew to the Ritz for a lovely dinner for two to complain about their poor idiotic Anti-Christ child.


End file.
